


Awash

by thearcticfox



Category: Apex Legends (Video Games)
Genre: Other, PWP, mirage horny on main
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-19
Updated: 2019-04-19
Packaged: 2020-01-16 07:14:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18516520
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thearcticfox/pseuds/thearcticfox
Summary: After the thrill of the Game, it was hard to adjust back to regular life. Mirage had far too much adrenaline pumping in his veins - he could hardly stand still.Luckily, his good friend is willing to help him blow of steam.





	Awash

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first smut fic so please be gentle uwu

Adjusting back to life after a successful match in the Apex Games was difficult. The thrill of being the one standing above the rest, to have the world watching as you dripped with sweat and someone else’s blood - it was addictive. Elliott loved the game, and he loved the life it brought him. But to go from that rush immediately just being another one of millions in Angel City - it was disorienting. Like whiplash.

 

His apartment’s AC was more than welcome, but the fire in Mirage’s blood wasn’t dying anytime soon. He longed for more action, anything to do - something or someone to blow off steam with.

 

He’d been pacing when he heard the knock on his door. Mirage grinned. Seemed he wasn’t the only one with some adrenaline to kill, and he recognized that knock. A new old friend.

 

And so he let Bloodhound in, offered them a drink. They were both two rum and cokes deep and in the kitchen making more when one of Mirage’s quips finally pushed them over the edge. He always flirted. But not like this, not with the look in his eye that promised sincerity, action.

 

It happened just after he made an offhand comment about Hound’s sex life. A joke on a topic briefly discussed before, something he knew they were alright with.

Their apartment was a bit small, they’d been explaining. It was only them and the raven. Nothing fancy.

 

“You’re tellin’ me you don’t have f- fl- flocks of suitors comin’ over for a good time?” Elliot laughed, taking a swig straight from the bottle.

 

They chuckled, using their straw for a sip. “I don’t usually do thi- ...things like that.”

 

He raised an eyebrow.

“Sounds like you meant to say this.” So that’s why they were here. His very first thought on that was... well. Certainly an exciting one.

 

“It seems I have drank a bit too much. My apologies, El-“

Their voice trailed off as he set the bottle down and let his hand slink toward their waist. Pull them just a tad closer.

 

“Don’t be sorry. If that’s why you came, it’d be awful rude of me to say no.” His voice was darker, huskier. Hound’s breath was thick. A hand rested on his chest, and Elliot cried out in shock as Hound spun the two of them around and shoved him back into the counter. It would have hurt, if the sight of them pinning him didn’t go straight down to his thighs.

 

“Don’t push me,” Bloodhound hissed, their accent dripping. The artificial white light lit the mask in new angles, but they still looked dangerous. He liked that, too.

 

“Or what?” he murmured, licking his lips. “You’ll punish me?”

 

One of Bloodhound’s hands moved from his chest to lightly stroke his hair. He leaned into the touch, breathing heavily, before their hand fisted. The pull on his scalp was rough. The primal noise it ripped from his throat was half a cry, more a moan. Their other hand wrapped around his throat with a delicious level of pressure.

 

“I did warn you,” they spoke. “Are you sure about this?”

 

He figured the tent in his jeans and the whimper in his throat was answer enough, but he still mustered a reply. His blood was still pumping hot, and as they backed him up to shove him onto the couch, he knew Bloodhound’s was too.

 

Their hands left his throat to tear at his jumpsuit, buckles and belts falling open, and he wished he could kiss them. Something to do than just lay there.

 

Perhaps he could get them riled up. That was working well for him so far.

 

He whined as they pulled away his outer layers, leaving him in only a tank top and boxers. Clothes strewn on the floor, his hands moved from around their neck to palm at their legs, inching closer to their thighs. “I want to see you,” he breathed. Hound literally growled in response, and Mirage wiggled about in desperation. Fuck, he needed to be touched. Pre was already dampening his shorts.

 

“Patience, Witt.”

 

Their gloves fell to the floor, but he barely had time to admire their amber skin before a rough palm dragged over his bulge.

He was shaking before, but now he bucked forward, groaning. They were taking their time, moving slowly and breathing hard, but the pressure was there, and he was already so hard he felt he could burst.

 

“Hound- fuck, please-“

 

“Shut up. I have told you to be patient. Unless you would like something better to do with that mouth?”

 

Fuck, they were so hot like this.

 

They hesitated for a few moments, clearly thinking, before speaking again.

“Close your eyes, kæru. Do not open them.”

 

Elliot swiftly obeyed, eyes squeezed shut, jaw still slack in pleasure.

He heard them rustling with their coat, presumably stripping themselves of their outer layers, before a click and hiss. Depressurizing. Were they removing the mask?

 

“Hound, you don’t have to-“

 

“I wouldn’t if I did not wish to.”

 

When they touched him again, he could feel their skin, tough but gentle. They straddled him, hands rubbing over his thighs before creeping toward his waistband. He hissed in the drawn out nature of it, needing more, needing release.

 

“Are you alright?”

“Yes- fuck, Houndie, just-“

 

Their tone was softer when they spoke again, seeing how much it was challenging him to not have what he needed.

“Patience, Elliott. You’re doing so well so far.”

 

He could hear their own arousal in his voice. With the way they spoke his name, accent like honey, he could have come apart right there.

 

A calloused hand slipped under his boxers and took his length up. He groaned. His hands grasped at their hips, running up and down their sides before realizing just how little Hound wore. Thin undergarments and a tight binder around their chest. Ouch.

 

“That has to hurt,” he murmured, barely managing the words.

 

“It... makes me feel better. About my body.”

 

“I’m not going to s- st- peek. That’ll hurt you. You should take it off.”

 

Their hands moved away from his body, and he bit back a needy whine. They swore him to not looking once more, voice quiet, before a zipper came undone and more fell to the floor.

 

As they resumed their places, Elliott was careful to let his hands explore while avoiding their chest. Their hips, their thighs, their collarbones - anything they let him touch. The raw power in their muscles could be felt, and he’d be damned if that didn’t turn him on.

 

They stroked him several times before moving away again. This time, he did whine. He was so close, so built up, and they just kept pulling back.

 

“Look at your face,” Hound cooed as they shuffled around again. “You need to cum so badly, don’t you?”

 

“P-please.”

 

“I think you’ve earned it.” Their voice was a growl in his ear. He jumped in shock. Soft hair fell across his face.

 

“F-first door on the left is my room. Top nightstand drawer.”

 

They slipped away.

 

For just a moment he opened his eyes. Both their outfits were a mess on the floor, and he grinned at the sight of Hound’s coat in his home.

 

He knew, realistically, that he was in far too deep for this to end well. Sex without strings attached was impossible when you were already falling in love. He almost didn’t care. Elliott would take the pain of heartbreak just to hear them say his name like that again.

 

Footsteps. He closed his eyes again, and soon Hound was back on him, hands ripping his boxers down. The eagerness was back. Foil ripped, and just before he felt the latex slip on, a tongue darted over his tip. 

 

They straddled him again as he moaned, and he could feel they were completely bare now. His hands slipped into their hair, tugging. They moaned, leaning in closer.

 

“I did tell you not to try me.” Their hand wrapped around his throat once more, gripping tighter. Jesus, he needed them. Something. Anything. The way it just bordered on hurt made him cough out their name.

 

Bloodhound whispered something he couldn’t understand before lining him up with their free hand. Slowly, achingly, they lowered themselves onto him.

 

They quickly pressed down, giving themselves only a slight moment to adjust before starting to move. The fluidity of movement and the ease with which they could take him proved their own arousal, just how much they had needed this too. The game could do that. The adrenaline was hard to lose.

 

They gasped as they took more of him, his length now completely inside. He gripped their hair harder with one hand, the other creeping down to between their legs. Just as his fingers reached their target, right between their legs, they began to move faster, and the whine they let out was almost subhuman. Sweat dripped off them both, and heat pooled in his gut as they continued to move.

 

He finished first, pulling their hair hard as he could as his hips spasmed. They followed not far behind, dragging out their pleasure. The hand around his neck tightened as they came, releasing only when they’d ridden out their last wave of pleasure.

 

Elliott swore, breathing heavily. Lips pressed to his bruised throat. Hot skin. Warped, as though scarred.

 

They fell asleep still tangled together.

 

When he woke, Bloodhound was gone. The only proof they’d ever been there at all was a single raven’s feather resting on the table.


End file.
